Éponine stretches out a hand. “Great to meet you, Lexi,” she says warmly. Then she turns back to Jake, her eyes wide with excitement. “Any chance we can get a picture with you, Jake?”
He returns her smile, his dimple popping. “Only if Lexi can be in it too.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You sure you’re okay being in a photo with me?”
He grins widely. “Trust me, it’s worth it for the look on your face right now.”
Moments later, we’re huddled together, and I’m handing my phone to a stagehand. My body is still buzzing with excitement fifteen minutes later when we slip into the back of a yellow cab.
“This was the most amazing night,” I sigh happily.
“It was,” Jake agrees. “Nights like this remind me why it’s worth it. I see the cast up there, pouring their hearts into their performances, giving up nights with their families and friends. I recognize their love for the art, the commitment. Getting to share that passion with the world is the best part of this whole crazy ride.”
I lean toward him, so close our foreheads are almost touching.
“Can I tell you a secret? When I was little, I used to fantasize about playing Éponine on Broadway. I had this suede newsboy cap that I bought from a street vendor, and I would wear it with my dad’s trench coat and stand in front of my bathroom mirror singing ‘On My Own.’”
Jake’s mouth quirks. “Can I tellyoua secret? I had the same fantasy.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m not sure you have the range for it.”
He chuckles. “Not Éponine… Marius. I’ve always wanted to play him onstage. I even sang ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables’ at my sixth-grade talent show.”
“No, you didn’t!”
“It’s true. I was going through puberty and my voice kept cracking. Everyone was laughing at me, but I didn’t even care, because they were sort of laughing with me, you know?” He leans his headback against the seat, smiling at the memory. “Man, I loved every second of it. The way the audience responded to me, the way I felt like I could absorb their energy. I just knew I wanted to chase that high for the rest of my life.”
His accent grows thicker as he talks, in that stupidly adorable way it always does when he gets excited. I study his profile, the way his dimple is faintly visible through his stubble.
“You could still do it, you know. Try your hand at Broadway.”
Jake’s cheerful expression fades and he shakes his head. “I appreciate how much faith you have in me, but I’m not sure Vinny would be on board with that plan. My team has a fully developed trajectory for my career, and Broadway is definitely not any part of it.”
NOW THAT OUR SCHEDULESno longer lend themselves to Friday afternoon happy hours, Ali, Chloe, and I have rescheduled our weekly catch-up sessions as Monday morning breakfasts. When I arrive at Manhattan Bagel at 9A.M., Chloe is already seated at a table in the corner, half of a scooped-out bagel on a plate in front of her. As usual, she’s bent over her phone, furrowed brow pinned firmly in place.
“Which do you want first: The good news or the bad news?” she asks when I slide into the seat across from her.
“Good morning to you, too.”
Chloe looks up at me and smiles. “Sorry. Good morning to you and your stunningly beautiful face, which I do not see nearly enough. Now, which will it be?”
“I’ll take good news for two hundred.”
“The good news is that today marks the one-week anniversary of the last time I left a prank voicemail on Dev’s phone,” Ali’s voice comes up from behind me. Pulling out the chair next to me, she sits, plopping a brown paper bag and an iced coffee down on thetable in front of her. “My therapist has deemed me ‘slightly less unhinged than usual.’”
“Mazel tov! Chloe, does this trump your good news?”
“Debatable,” she replies, eyeing me with uncertainty. “You need to look at this. Apparently, you’re a blind item on DeuxMoi this morning.”
“Deux what?”
“See for yourself.”
She slides the phone across the table so that I can read the Instagram screenshot.
Sent via form submission fromDeuxMoi
Pseudonyms, Please:Mademoiselle Anon
